


happy birthday, dear archivist

by writevale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Martin is crushing so hard in this one, Missing scenes around Jon's birthday, Set Pre-season 1, Spoilers for MAG 161, and it is visible from SPACE, canon-typical (lovable) jerk tim stoker, maybe martin finds a kind of security in jon's obliviousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: 'Well, if he's this grumpy at the party tomorrow,' Tim interjects, 'You might just have to give him a big ol' birthday kiss, Martin. See if that cheers him up.''Shutup, Tim!'
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 24
Kudos: 243





	happy birthday, dear archivist

Martin looks up from the photocopied statement he'd been trying to concentrate on to see the broad frame of Tim Stoker marching towards his desk, face tight with a pinched, worried look. Something cold slides down to his stomach, as though he's swallowed an ice cube. In the seconds before Tim makes it to him, he's thought up several possibilities for reasons why he might be about to be fired. His hand trembles a little over the ink-stained statement. He needs this job.

'Martin.' Tim's voice has been dropped to a whisper. Martin feels a little like he might be about to fall out of his chair. 'Something awful has happened.'

'Wh-what?' He tries to swallow, mouth as dry as the air in Artefact Storage. Tim leans forwards over Martin's desk and lowers his voice even further. Martin scans the room, the only person giving them any attention is Sasha who's clearly straining to catch what Tim is about to say.

'It's really a tragedy. But it's okay, you might be the solution we need!'

' _What_?'

'The stripper we ordered for Boss' birthday has cancelled last minute so we need you to step in!' _Oh, for fuck's_ \- Martin lets all the air out of his lungs in a long sigh, hiding his terror under the poor disguise of being pissed off. 'You reckon you could do a ten minute set? I'm sure he'll love it.' Tim devolves into snickers at the end of his sentence and Martin sits back in his chair, shaking his head. There's no point trying to fight the fire in his cheeks. The whole Archives knows that he blushes easily.

'That's - that's not funny for so many reasons.' Tim cackles as Martin folds his arms. 'Firstly, you nearly gave me a heart attack!' _Secondly, you know how I feel about . . . And the whole crux of the joke is that he can't stand me. Thirdly, I'm the last person anyone would want to give them a lap dance_.

'Hah! I know, the look on your face was priceless! Try not to keel over though, or Sasha won't let me play jokes on you anymore.' Martin glances back over at Sasha. She's smirking into the rim of a mug and her gaze slides away upon catching his eye.

'Oh, great. A coordinated effort.' He mumbles. Tim laughs again, clapping him on the shoulder.

'So that's a no?'

'Go away, Tim!'

***

Martin squirms in his seat. He's not a pervert. He's really not. But, sometimes, with the most boring statements - my dog barked in the night and I think I have a ghost, I got really lost in a hedge-maze and now I want to sue the farm for trapping me there with paranormal forces - it's easy to let his mind drift towards something _else_. Especially with Jon bustling in and out of their office so much today, that glint of steel in his beautiful hazel eyes that Martin just knew would look so tempting if the man were pinned underneath him. Especially when Tim had provided such rogue but somewhat _interesting_ kindling for a fantasy. Imagining the stiff set of Jon's shoulders, his ramrod straight spine, loosening as Martin . . .

Martin jumps, office chair squeaking, as a screwed up ball of paper lands on his desk, shattering his daydream as it bounces off his keyboard and onto the floor. When he straightens from picking it up, Tim Stoker is smirking at him from the other side of their small office.

'Daydreaming?' He calls, eyebrows waggling. Martin's mouth twists, face flushing again. He shakes his head, fixing his eyes back on his computer screen and trying to find where he was up to on the page. The real embarrassment hits when he hears Sasha's giggle from over at her desk. The pair of them, honestly. Martin thinks it would have been ideal if Sasha had actually been promoted. They couldn't team up to tease him so much if she were his boss.

With a huff of irritation, he snatches the empty mug from his desk and stalks towards the office door. Tim and Sasha's calls for tea go unacknowledged - _it's the only way to get through to them._ Martin is just about to step out into the main corridor, heart still pounding with the mortification of being caught drooling over their boss in the middle of the working day. _They can't know actually what you were thinking for sure_ , he tries to comfort himself, _well, before you went scarlet and stormed off, anyway_.

'Ah!' He startles again as a door swings open and he almost walks straight into the man himself. Jonathan Sims. His boss is equally as startled, clutching what looks like an old tape to his chest, lovely eyes wide and shiny in the grey light through the windows.

'Jesus, Martin!' He breathes.

'Sorry!'

'I -' His eyes narrow on the mug in Martin's hand. 'Are you making another cup of tea?' Martin glances down at the porcelain. It's one of the mass-produced white mugs that are found in offices all over the world. Martin knows it used to have a stationery company's logo on it but it's been washed so many times that all that's left is a few peeling strips of blue. He can't help the sudden wish that he owned a better mug, something in a fun novelty shape or with a good pun on it. A mug that might suggest to Jon that he has a personality worth investing in.

'I - ah - yeah. Do you - would you like one?'

Jon's jaw twitches. He has a lovely jawline, angular and sharp. A wonderful contrast to the curl of the pewter-shot hair that falls in front of his ears.

'- Martin, are you even listening?'

'Um, yeah?'

'Go do some work!'

'Right, yes, right-o. Sorry Jon.' He returns to his desk with his tail between his legs.

Tim and Sasha leave it all of ten seconds after Jon has left the room before they erupt again.

'Ooof, he's _grumpy_ today!'

'Are you alright, Martin?' Sasha asks, genuinely a little disgusted at their boss.

'Yeah, yeah. Fine.' Martin insists. Sometimes, he imagines himself as a little mouse, just squeaking out whatever people want to hear so that they'll leave him alone. It's not great for his self-esteem.

'He shouldn't speak to you like that, no matter how stressed he is.' Sasha clearly thinks better of adding: I don't know what you see in him. But it's heavily implied.

'Well, if he's this grumpy at the party tomorrow,' Tim interjects, 'You might just have to give him a big ol' birthday kiss, Martin. See if that cheers him up.'

'Shut _up_ , Tim!'

***  


Jon looks wonderful in candlelight. It's not a fact that should surprise Martin, the way the golden flickering from his birthday candles bounces off his brown skin. It makes him look like some kind of lost statue of a God, powerful and beautiful and -

'If I wish for you all to go away, do you think it'll work?' Jon's mouth quirks up into something that might be a grin and Martin might just die happily right there and then. He forces himself to look away from Jon for just a second to find that Tim is watching him. There's no doubt that the twist in Tim's lips is a grin.

'He's so _grumpy_ today, isn't he, Martin?' Martin feels the sickly swoop of his stomach falling right out of his body. _He wouldn't_. Tim quirks an eyebrow.

'Uh - oh! Well, um -'

'Do you think it's his looming sense of mortality?'

Martin's heart races in his chest as he splutters. Tim is actually going to get him fired. Or kill him. Here lies Martin K. Blackwood, cause of death: embarrassment. 'Uh - I, I don't think -'

Jon, oblivious to the chaotic swirl of emotion in Martin's chest, stares down at the tiny, wobbling flames like they might suddenly leap from the cake and destroy his precious statements.

'Fine.'

Martin sucks in a breath as though he’s the one about to blow out some candles. When he watches Jon's lips push out into a pout as he extinguishes them, he's definitely not thinking about birthday kisses at all.

***

Martin has been trying his best to be a shadow in the Archives. Jon had wanted some peace and quiet and he was hardly going to get that if he needed to lecture Martin about his incompetence. Therefore, when Martin rounds the corner to enter the small kitchenette shared by the Archives staff, he's surprised to find Jon in there, pushing a teabag around his mug. He looks deep in thought, almost morose with it, and Martin considers dipping away so as not to intrude. The decision is taken away from him as Jon choses that moment to look up, nodding his head at Martin in a wordless greeting.

It's awkward, sharing this tiny space with Jon. Martin's pulse bumps up against the collar of the relatively nice shirt he'd chosen to wear to mark the occasion of Jon's birthday. Being alone with Jon usually means a telling off and Martin is sure that's why his hands feel a little shaky as he struggles to get the lid off the tin they keep the tea in. Jon holds out a hand and Martin blushes as he passes it over.

'More tannin?' He rumbles. It takes Martin a second to realise that it's a joke. _Maybe?_

'Oh, hah. Yeah.' He watches the way the tendons in the back of Jon's hand stand out as he twists the lid off and debates telling him that the reason he didn't want to drink is because he needs to visit his mum after work tonight. But no, probably best not to tell Jon anything that might have him looking too closely at the reason Martin took his job at the Institute. 'Thanks.' He mumbles as Jon tilts the tin towards him and he selects a teabag, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of watching Jon's forearms in his peripheries as his boss screwed the lid back on the tin and stashed it away in the cupboard. 'Did you have a nice party?' He asks. It seems like safe territory. Jon huffs one of his rare laughs. 

'Er,' He meets Martin's eyes as he goes to open the fridge. He must see something vulnerable there because his face softens, just a fraction, and he clears his throat. 'It was . . . A nice break. I guess. For everyone.'

'Right,' Martin feels a small thrill at the lukewarm response despite its obvious forced nature, 'Yeah.' Jon pulls the milk out of the fridge. He pauses, mid-pour.

'Thank you.'

'Um, sorry?'

'For,' He sighs. Martin's heart does something frankly gymnastic in his throat. 'For the party. I assume it was your idea.'

'I -' He's blushing again. _Godamnit._ 'I - well, yeah. I mean, it was all of us, really. I just -' _Had the idea and organised the cake and wine and the candles and provided the distraction to make sure you were in the right place at the right time and didn't tell Elias anything, despite what Tim thinks._

'Well, thank you anyway.' Jon's lips twitch into what might be a smile. 'Do you want the milk leaving out?' _And, I spent ages in the supermarket trying to decide what kind of cake you might like because I didn't want you to think we were taking the piss if I got you a Colin the Caterpillar even though it is unarguably the best -_

'Huh?'

'The milk, Martin, should I put it away?'

'Oh! Um, no thanks.'

'Right, well. See you later.' Jon sweeps out of the tearoom. The giddy feeling in Martin's lungs escapes as a happy little laugh. He jiggles a little on the spot, grinning over at the milk. Jon's face reappears at the door and he freezes in shock.

'You'll have those statements on my desk by 5pm, yes?'

'Yep, yeah, of course. No problem!'

Jon shoots him a disbelieving look as he leaves.

Martin drops the statements on his desk at 4:10pm. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is all I could hear while listening to tim @ martin at the birthday party. tim stoker, you are a MENACE, sir. 
> 
> p.s. this is how I imagine martin dropping his work off early went:  
> j: [checks watch] wow, is it my birthday or something?  
> m: um, yes . . . are you okay, jon?  
> j: yeah, it was a jo- you know what, nvm, that'll be all, martin. 
> 
> thanks so much for reading!


End file.
